


she lost her head

by prescellphone



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Modern AU, drugs are bad dont do it children, gallya, napoleon feels, tmfu, trio love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prescellphone/pseuds/prescellphone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is gone and Napoleon is in charge of controlling Gaby's bad habits (modern au)</p><p>Music: Facedown by The 1975</p>
            </blockquote>





	she lost her head

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what the hell this is but I recently finished Sinner by Maggie Stiefvater and all I can say is that writing and reading drug scenes is a real experience. I feel bad for saying it, but I actually really enjoy reading and writing them. Also I've been writing some really dark stuff lately and i can't stop myself

* * *

 

       Napoleon knew it was bad before the mic went silent in his ear. Gaby’s last words had been slurred with alcohol and god knows what else. Napoleon’s heart twisted in fear. Rapidly gathering his things from inside the car, he tried calling to her but knew it was useless. Either her mic had been pulled out or she had turned it off. He had no chance of reaching her.

       Biting his cheek when the cold rushed in, Napoleon climbed out of the car and made his way to the lit up nightclub down the street. He was definitely not dressed for spy work, and he reluctantly took off his suit jacket and dropped it in an alley to be picked up later. The line to the club was empty, even partiers weren’t out at 4 am. The bouncer didn’t even give a second look as he moved into the club.

       It was an eerie sight. The music was still booming, giving the building a heartbeat, and the neon lights were bouncing off the walls, making Napoleon’s eyes flash. Only a few people lingered in the club. A girl smiled at him from the bar as he passed, but Napoleon hardly acknowledged her before climbing the stairs to the VIP rooms.

       He kept telling himself that she was alright. Gaby was capable of taking care of herself. But memories of the past few missions grabbed his attention and Napoleon moved quicker. He remembered the way her arms were sprawled across the bathroom tile. The way she didn’t respond to him last time.

       Napoleon opened the first door and found no one. Jogging to the next one, his movements grew frantic. Still no one. He moved from one to the other and his nerves were sharpened knives under his skin.

       Finally reaching the last room, Napoleon tore open the door and heaved in a shocked gasp. A man was sprawled across the bed, his pants around his ankles and his body soaking in dark blood. Napoleon watched blood drip from the bed onto the floor before he finally stepped into the room. Shot glasses and empty beer bottles were scattered across the room along with articles of clothing and empty syringes.

       Taking a deep breath, Napoleon stepped silently to the bathroom, his hand tight around the gun in the back of his pants. He turned the corner quickly and immediately released the gun. The fluorescent light created a sharp shadow around Gaby’s body spread out on the floor, her legs lying unnaturally.

       Waverly was going to kill him.

       Napoleon glanced at the syringe and the bloody knife lying next to her. Her hands were deep red, blood seeping into her skin and dress. It formed a trail underneath her and Napoleon instantly imagined her gut torn apart, her body still with death. His heart froze. Rapidly dropping down next to her, Napoleon fumbled to feel her pulse. Only feeling his own, he was about to roll her over when he saw her back rising slowly. He relaxed his shoulders and rubbed his eyes. This was going to be hard to explain.

       His fingers were gentle as they brushed the holes in the crooks of her arms and swiped her dark hair out of her face. As Napoleon watched, her smeared red lips parted and her eyes fluttered open, the blue mascara making her eyelashes look like butterfly wings.

       “Shit,” Napoleon breathed out as her brown eyes looked at him, “Shit shit shit shit.”

       Gaby didn’t speak before she sat up on her elbows and retched. Nothing came up but Napoleon still grabbed her hair as she heaved. He handed her a towel to wipe her mouth with and something slid across the floor with it. It was her mic.

       “God damn it Gaby,” Napoleon mumbled.

       “Napoleon.”

       She managed to choke it out before collapsing onto the floor. Napoleon caught her before her head hit the floor. Gathering her in his arms, he regretted wearing one of his best suits as the blood from her body dripped onto him. Leaving everything behind but the knife and mic, Napoleon carried her out of the room and luckily the bartender and bouncer had moved somewhere else as he jogged through the club.

       Gaby whimpered with each step and muttered multiple times, “Illya, where is Illya?”

       “We’ll see him soon, Gabes,” Napoleon spoke as he moved as quickly as he could to the car. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that they hadn’t seen him for months.

       “I need Illya,” Gaby sobbed out, tears mixing with the dried blood on her face.

       “We’re going to go see him,” Napoleon lied as he reached the car and placed her in the backseat.

       Her thighs were smothered in blood and Napoleon could imagine her in the lap of the target and her hands stabbing the man with her hidden knife. From the amount of blood, he guessed she had stabbed him multiple times, her drugged mind not registering the gory mess. It was a frightening image.

       Napoleon continued to try to comfort Gaby as he climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking spot. He was a couple blocks away before he realized that he had forgotten his suit jacket. Shaking the thought from his mind, he glanced at Gaby when he noticed the silence in the car. Her body was limp and her head lolled on the seat easily.

       “Fuck. Gaby, Jesus Christ, Gaby!”

       Napoleon managed to get her to open her eyes. Turning back to the road, Napoleon pulled out his cellphone and dialed Waverly’s number.

       “Solo,” Waverly’s voice was cool.

       Napoleon strained to hold in his panic, “It happened again. Have the nurse ready.”

       “Fucking hell,” Waverly breathed out, “How bad is it?”

       “Worse,” Napoleon ran a red light, “She’s getting worse.”

       Napoleon didn’t wait for his response before hanging up, the phone thrown into the passenger seat.

       It felt like an eternity before Napoleon stopped by the back entrance to the hotel. Rain began to fall as he shut the car off and pulled Gaby back into his arms. He hurried up the stairs to their shared room, ignoring the worried questions from the receptionist.

       Gaby felt limp against his chest and her heart beat weakly. Napoleon whispered soft words to her as he moved down the hall to their room. Waverly already had the door open when they arrived and once inside, the nurse was quick to instruct Napoleon. Placing Gaby on the couch, Napoleon stepped back and watched as the nurse began her work. In the warm light of the room, Gaby’s skin was terrifyingly pale.

       Before Napoleon could even protest, Waverly had dragged him into his room and begun to question him.

       As he responded, all Napoleon could see was Gaby’s hair spread across the floor and her arms filled with syringe sized holes. If she died, it was his fault. He was the one who convinced Waverly that she was ready to be a honeypot again. He was the one who didn’t see how much Gaby missed Illya. If she died, he would never be able to live with himself.

 

       It had been a full day and Gaby had yet to wake up from her coma-like sleep. The rain from the night before had not ceased and it filled the quiet room with soothing sounds. Napoleon sat at her bedside, his head bobbing as he tried to stay awake. The relief he had felt when the nurse said she would recover still lingered in his limbs. He was unbelievably relieved and tired.

       His last memory before he fully fell asleep was of her hand squeezing his weakly.

 

       When Napoleon woke, he sat up with a start. The room was pitch dark and he slowed his breathing as he tried to figure out what had woken him. Feeling Gaby’s pulse in her wrist, he was about to relax back into the chair when the hotel door creaked open.

       Immediately grabbing the gun from the table next to him, Napoleon flicked on the lamp and aimed his gun. Gaby woke with the light, her groans expressing her annoyance.

       Napoleon’s arms weakened as Illya walked in, his leather jacket and jeans dripping water.

       Napoleon felt his heart swell, “Peril.”

       “Cowboy,” Illya responded, his Russian accent thick, but his eyes were on Gaby.

       Gaby sat up, her body groggy from the amount of sleep she had been getting. She rubbed her palm into her eye before looking up. At the sight of Illya she froze for a second before her posture grew shy and unsure, the months of not seeing him made her rethink exactly what their relationship had been like before.

       Gaby shifted uneasily and was about to speak when Illya crossed the room in three strides. She was swallowed by his embrace. After a minute, he tore off his wet jacket and sat on the edge of the bed. Napoleon was taken aback to see Illya in a simple t shirt. Then he noticed the untidy mess of his blonde hair and the bags under his eyes. He must have rushed to get here once Waverly informed him of the situation. The sobs Gaby expelled into Illya’s chest were barely audible and Napoleon suddenly felt like he was intruding on a private display but his feet were stapled to the floor.

       As he watched them, Napoleon’s guilt crawled into his throat. He was finally about to stand when Illya looked over at him. His blue eyes were soft and understanding, the unspoken words were easy to apprehend. He didn’t blame Napoleon and never would.

       For the first time in a while, Napoleon felt his chest constrict. He had to take a deep breath before he could respond with a nod, his eyes too blurry to see Illya’s reaction.

       They were too good for him.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for not posting in a while. my classes just started and i can already tell that this is going to be a hellish semester. also on top of that, im trying to figure out if i want to transfer to another school and get an apartment with my best friend in colorado. thats what i really want at the moment so hopefully it works out. anywho, thank you to all the people who follow my writing and write such beautiful things to me :) youre the best


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